


nobody else believes you're ever going to come down

by nomelon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Brothers, Buckets, Chickens, First Kiss, First Time, Hunting, Incest, M/M, Sex Pollen, Silly, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-03
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another sex pollen bug fic, this time with extra added chickens. I don't know either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nobody else believes you're ever going to come down

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: to the very generous on_verra who donated for this story on help_haiti. I just want you to know, this ended up a tad bizarre. I hope it's in some small way what you were looking for. Thank you so much for your generosity.
> 
> Beta: the delightful elanorelle. Thank you, my dear!

"No, dude. Just no," Dean said. "This is a really, really horrible idea."

"If you have something else up your sleeve, I'm all ears, but right now..." Sam nudged Dean's bucket with his toe. It clanked. "This is what we got."

Dean scowled; his shoulders up somewhere around his ears. "For the record, I hate this plan."

"Duly noted," Sam said, taking out his set of lock-picks and crouching down so the door handle was at his eye level.

"I hate Bobby."

"I'm sure he hates you too," Sam said pleasantly.

"And I hate bug hunts."

Sam smiled faintly as he set to work. They were at a side door to the huge greenhouse set slap bang in the middle of the university botanical gardens, and the security was practically nonexistent. The arched doorway was tucked away in the shadows, hidden from the light of the waning moon. It was too risky to use their flashlights this close to the main gate, but Sam could have picked this lock with his eyes closed.

"You got your bucket?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I've got my freaking bucket."

"Salt?"

"Yeah," Dean grumbled, kicking at a nearby tree root.

"Knife? Flashlight?"

"Got 'em."

"Chicken?"

"I'm good to go, Sam. Let's just get this over with. Running around in the dark, chasing giant bugs with a bucket and a dead chicken on a string. It's degrading."

"It has to be tonight before it lays its eggs. You remember the cows we saw, don't you? What happens if next time they use a human host?"

Dean pulled a face, the effect a little lost in the shadows dappling his face. "Yeah, I remember the cows. It's not something I'm going to forget in a hurry."

"I remember you losing your breakfast."

"I remember punching you in the face."

Sam frowned. "You didn't punch me in the face."

"Not then. Just generally. It's something I like to remember."

The lock clicked into place and the door swung open. A breath of moist, warm, fragrant air wafted over Sam's face.

"Took you long enough," Dean said.

Sam rose to his feet, calm and dignified, and mere inches away from slapping Dean upside the head. "Like we planned. You go left. I go right. Meet in the middle. If you find it, see if you can get it to go for the chicken." He picked up his bucket, wrinkling his nose at the contents. His chicken was starting to smell kind of funky.

"Degrading," Dean reiterated.

Sam guided him inside with a firm hand on Dean's shoulder. "Just don't lose your bucket."

"I don't see why I can't just shoot it," Dean muttered, shrugging off Sam's hand as he went inside, his face like thunder, his chicken trailing behind him in the dirt.

  
\---

  
Sam skidded around the corner to see Dean on his belly, his arms wrapped around his upturned bucket. His flashlight was several feet away, its beam lighting up a nearby little bush that was dotted here and there with very pretty pink flowers and was also cradling a mangled, store-bought, plucked chicken in its branches.

"I got it!" Dean said, full of glee. "I got the son of a bitch!"

His bucket was rattling and shaking and emitting high pitched shrieks and a lot of clicking and chittering, and it kept lifting a couple of inches off the ground and flashing several long, thin, black legs that scratched and scrabbled at the outside of the bucket before Dean was able to shove it back down again.

Sam dropped to his knees, shining his own flashlight on the bucket. "Okay, Bobby wasn't a hundred percent, but he said salt should weaken it so it can't fly, then we can hack it up into pieces to be sure."

"Is it going to shrivel up? Like when you put salt on slugs?"

"I have no idea. Also, when did you ever get close enough to a slug to know about putting salt on it?"

"Kids do some fucked up shit," Dean said simply. "Hey, can we burn it afterwards? I think we should burn the crap out of it afterwards."

"Couldn't hurt."

The bucket abruptly stopped moving and the sudden silence rang loud in Sam's ears.

Dean looked back and forth between Sam and the bucket. "What's it doing?"

"Like I'm supposed to know? Maybe it's tired."

"Maybe. Quick. Salt the sucker before it gets its second wind."

Sam readied himself with a fistful of salt as Dean gingerly lifted the edge of the bucket.

There was nothing underneath.

"Did you let it _escape_?" Sam yelped.

"No, I didn't let it escape! You had the light on it the whole time. It was right in there."

Sam swallowed, realising suddenly how close the bucket was to Dean's face. "Dude, then it's gotta still be in there. Just get ready to flip it over."

Dean slowly, slowly, slowly tipped the bucket. Sam didn't move a muscle, while his heart made a valiant attempt at clambering up into his mouth. As soon as the bucket got to enough of an angle, Sam threw a decent handful of salt up into it, hoping for the best. There was an unearthly scream and the bucket leapt up and down with enough force that Dean looked like he was making a really uncoordinated attempt at doing The Worm.

"Okay, maybe we should hold off on the flipping it over thing," Sam said. "Where's your knife?"

"Back of my jeans," Dean said, holding on to his bucket for dear life.

Sam grabbed it and got to his knees, the knife held high and ready to stab, his flashlight clamped between his teeth. "On three," he said, tasting plastic.

The bucket leapt high into the air and a black _thing_ the size of a small dog fell out of it, frothing from the mouth, its leathery wings flapping, its eyes red and rolling, thick hair sprouting from behind its ears and in random tufts all over its body.

"Three!" Dean yelled. "Three! Freaking three!"

Sam got lucky with his first blow, stabbing into what might have been the creature's abdomen, sliding right between the armoured plates. It let out about one last high pitched howl and seemed to sink into itself, its body collapsing like a burst soccer ball. There was a long hissing sound like air escaping. Sam could feel it against his exposed skin, tickling him like the brush of tiny insect wings, settling on him like dust and gossamer. He was expecting an unholy stink, but instead it smelled sickly sweet and made him a little dizzy, like there wasn't quite enough oxygen in the room.

Dean flopped over to lie on his back, breathing heavily.

"You okay?" Sam asked, brushing what felt like strands of spider web off his face and arms.

"I've had better nights."

Sam used the knife to lift the creature and dump it into his bucket.

Dean curled his lip in disgust. "That thing smells like those little tree car fresheners. I hate those things."

Sam got to his feet and stared down at Dean. "You coming?" he asked with a sigh. "Or are you sleeping down there?"

Dean stuck out his bottom lip and cast a long glance from Sam's boots up to his face. "Pick me up."

Sam rolled his eyes, but dutifully offered a hand and pulled Dean to his feet. He pulled a little too hard and Dean swayed into Sam's space, his hand going to Sam's shoulder for balance. Neither of them let go immediately, just blinking sleepily and holding each other up. Dean's cheekbone grazed Sam's jaw as they stared down into the bucket.

"You know, if a poodle had sex with a bat and a lobster and an armadillo, that thing is exactly what its kids would look like."

Sam blinked a couple more times. "That's an interesting take on the reproduction process, Dean, but I don't think those things have actual sex."

"Oh," Dean said, looking up at him. "Their loss."

  
\---

  
They stood upwind and watched it burn.

It was Dean who cracked first, his fingertips trailing up over Sam's thigh like he was discovering something precious and new and utterly forbidden. Sam watched the firelight reflected in Dean's gaze until he couldn't stand it anymore and closed his eyes, grunting when his back hit the tree, losing himself in the taste of his brother's mouth, the grind of his hips, and the solid warmth of his body.

It was Dean who came to his senses first, shoving away and leaving Sam breathless and hard and rumpled against the tree.

"Goddamn it," Dean said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Bobby sure as shit didn't tell us about _that_."

  
\---

  
Dean's knuckles were white on the wheel of the Impala. He swallowed and licked his lips a couple of times. "Dude, that... that was really something."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, because, really, what else could he do?

Dean shifted his grip on the wheel. "Any ideas?"

Sam shrugged. "Something to do with their reproductive cycles. Dunno. Something." He rubbed his fingertips back and forth on his forehead and his skin still felt slightly gritty. He looked at his hand and passed his thumb over the pads of his fingers. "But we might, uh, we should shower this stuff off. Whatever it is."

He refused to think about how they'd already breathed in the whatever it was from the creature, or about how they'd had probably licked it off each other's skin when they'd kissed. He refused to think words like spores and reproductive cycles and going into heat and mating season. He absolutely refused to think about the soft sound Dean had made when Sam's mouth had opened on his bottom lip.

Refusal was good. Refusal was his friend. Sam was very, very good at refusal.

Usually.

Most of the time.

Except where Dean was involved.

"Mm," Dean said. "Shower."

Sam steadfastly refused to think about Dean in the shower.

Dean flipped on the light above their heads, and Sam's heart leapt when he leaned in closer.

"Dude, you know it's kind of sparkly."

Dean's pupils were huge, and he was right, there was a soft shimmer to his skin, highlighting his cheekbones, making him look dusky and soft. Dean was saying something, but it was really hard paying attention to the actual words when Sam couldn't stop staring at his mouth. Dean had a really pretty mouth. It was distracting to say the least.

Sam realised his hand was in the air between them, halfway to touching his brother's face, and he lurched away.

They needed movement. Movement would help.

"You should drive now."

Dean nodded slowly. Then he seemed to realise he was staring at Sam's throat, right above the V of his t-shirt, and he shook himself. "Yeah. Drive. I'll do that."

Sam hit the light and went back to rubbing his forehead with his knuckle, focusing on the pressure and the dull pain when he pressed too hard.

"This'll wear off, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said as he started the engine. He flashed Sam a grin, but it looked tight and brittle on his face. "Course it will."

  
\---

  
They managed to behave themselves the whole way back to the motel. Sam spent most of the journey fidgeting and chewing on his lip, staring doggedly out the window.

The door to the motel room closed behind them and the rest of the world disappeared behind it. Sam immediately started pacing up and down, while Dean stood motionless by the foot of one of the beds and watched him.

"I should get another room," Sam heard himself say. "Just for tonight. If this doesn't wear off, then we've got to... I don't know. But we shouldn't stay here together, you know?"

Dean stepped into Sam's way and brought his pacing to an abrupt halt. Sam waited for whatever pearl of wisdom Dean was about to toss out, but instead Dean just stood there, looking annoyingly worried and open and sincere.

And slightly lecherous, because this was Dean, after all.

Sam's chest was too tight, his skin too warm. Dean was so close. Right _there_ and the draw to him was magnetic. Sam's entire body felt heavy. It would be so easy to just lean in that extra little bit and take what he wanted.

"This is fucked, Sam. I just want you to be aware of how very, very fucked this is."

"Agreed."

"I'm already aware, so I thought I should just make sure you're on the same page."

"I'm very aware."

"Okay, then. So long as you're aware."

Sam wasn't lying. He was very aware. He was aware of Dean's hands settling on his chest, smoothing over his shirt, then shifting and gripping tight. He was aware of the crease between Dean's eyebrows, the frown of concentration on his face, the movement of Dean's chest as he took quick, shallow breaths.

Dean shifted his weight, looking reluctant to do anything watch his hands on Sam's chest. "Seriously, this could fuck us up, Sam. I mean, more than already. We're talking Jerry Springer, here."

Sam nodded slowly, and started unbuckling Dean's belt. "We don't have to go on Jerry Springer. I promise."

"I'll hold you to th-- Oh, Christ, Sammy, yeah." Dean's eyes rolled back in his head, fisting Sam's shirt tight enough that Sam could hear stitches ripping. "I'm sorry, but we are doing this. We are so fucking doing this. I am so fucking horny right now."

Sam took a breath. Dean was right. Moments like this could change your life forever -- you just had to know when to cross the line and when to run very fast in the other direction. He had to make a decision. He had to do it now. And he had to live with the consequences for the rest of his life.

"Okay, let's do it," he said. "Dibs not catching."

Dean opened his eyes to glare, looking massively affronted.

For all of three seconds.

"Yeah, okay," he said, and pushed Sam towards the bed.

  
\---

  
"You think it wore off?"

Dean rolled over onto his side, not bothering to open his eyes. "I'm pretty sure it wore off after the third time."

"We did it four times, Dean."

"Always pays to be sure." Dean grinned and scratched lazily at his chest. "And it was four and a half if you count that thing in the shower."

Sam frowned, feeling rather discombobulated. "You're freakishly calm."

"I'm freakishly exhausted. You're a hell of a workout, Sammy."

"Yeah, but shouldn't you be panicking and locking yourself in the bathroom, repressing all this?"

"All the endorphins are telling me not to. Endorphins are your friends, Sam. You should listen to them."

Sam thought about getting up. He thought about drawing a line under this whole crazy situation and figuring out how to go about living the rest of his life. He thought about going to that little bar next door to their motel. He thought about having to get out of bed and get dressed and go all the way outside and down all those steps and having to sit in a smoky room with strangers and sports on the TV and normal, everyday people doing their normal, everyday things. He was still thinking about it when Dean yawned wide enough to crack his jaw, and Sam fought it, but ended up joining in.

"If it makes you feel any better, let us never speak of this again," Dean said, already half asleep, his head dipping until his forehead was just touching Sam's shoulder.

Sam yawned again, his eyelids drooping. "Like it never happened," he said, and hooked his heel over Dean's ankle, falling asleep to the sound of his brother's steady breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> <http://nomelon.livejournal.com/164119.html>


End file.
